A Gift Fit for a Champion
by vesaldi
Summary: Hawke sulks in Skyhold, but her spirits rise when Dellis returns from Jader with a gift for the Champion of Kirkwall. One-shot, part of the Dellisverse.


Hawke was tired of winter. She was tired of the cold, the snow, the wind. All of it. As bleak as Kirkwall's winters could be, the Free Marches had never seemed as dreary as Skyhold did every single day.

There was no sense in fighting it, she knew. Skyhold would never be warm and inviting, even in the heat of summer. As far up the Frostbacks as it was, the fortress was doomed to forever be a polar vortex, and just once Hawke would have liked to step outside and not immediately wish she had worn eighteen layers and a bearskin rug for warmth.

"Come on, Hawke, it's not so bad," Varric told her, nudging her slightly with his shoulder and sliding a mug toward her. "You remember that time we got stranded up on Sundermount during that storm?"

"Don't remind me," Hawke groaned, pulling the mug closer. "We were soaked through for hours."

"I remember huddling up to Blondie to keep warm," Varric remembered, visibly shuddering. "The moral of the story is that it can _always_ be worse. Except maybe for that."

Hawke chuckled into the mug as she took a long sip. The alcohol burned a path down the back of her throat, sending small tendrils of warmth spreading throughout her body. She sighed happily.

"Looks like Squiggles is back," Varric told her as he looked over his shoulder. Hawke simply buried herself in the mug, hoping that if she drank the ale quickly enough she might forget that how desolate the keep seemed. She didn't even notice when Varric disappeared.

"Not even going to say hello?" Dellis asked as he sidled up to the bar. "Two whiskeys, please."

"You know I drink that swill," Hawke mumbled into the now empty mug. "It's almost as bad as what they had in the Hanged Man."

"It's not for you," Dellis told her with a chuckle as the barkeep set the drinks down on the bar. "I brought something back from Jader that I thought you might like."

"Bringing me gifts now, are you?" Hawke asked with a wry smile. "Careful, Inquisitor. I might get the wrong idea."

"I don't think you will," he replied, picking up one of the drinks and walking toward Krem.

"Hey, where are you going?" Hawke called after him. She flinched slightly as she felt a hand on her shoulder, and another reach past her for the second glass.

"Miss me, sweet thing?" a voice purred in her ear.

"Isabela?" Hawke stuttered in unmistakable surprise. She was left at a lack for words as Isabela slid into the seat beside her, swallowing the whiskey in a single gulp.

It seemed like an eternity since Hawke had last seen Isabela. Amid the constant snow storms and catastrophes, Hawke had completely lost track of how long she'd been holed up in Skyhold. It suddenly occurred to her that she had never written Isabela to tell her where she was, not that the pirate queen seemed at all perturbed about any of it.

"I miss that piss water from Lowtown," Isabela told her sadly. "You keep better liquor _and_ company these days."

"You must mean Dellis," Hawke chuckled, taking a swig from her newly refilled glass. "There was a time you and he might have really hit it off."

"Is that no longer an option?" Isabela asked with a wink.

"He broke the cardinal rule that you, somehow, never did," Hawke returned. "Besides, he's a bit... focused, right now. On someone I'd rather not cross."

"A shame," Isabela purred, her eyes momentarily fixed on the Inquisitor. Dellis sat across the room, pretending - almost convincingly - to be engaged in deep conversation with the Chargers' lieutenant.

"How did you know I was here?" Hawke asked after a moment of silence.

"I didn't," Isabela admitted, still watching Dellis. "He just happened to find me in Jader."

"He must have recognized you from my description," Hawke thought, almost to herself. "Or Varric's, maybe."

"Neither of you have any knack for description," Isabela chuckled, waving to the bartender for another drink.

"Varric _does_ have a knack for exaggeration, Bels," Hawke reminded her suggestively, satisfied to see Isabela's cheek twitch.

"I hate that name, Hawke." Isabela was lying. Hawke knew she loved it, but wouldn't risk anyone else knowing. She had a reputation to uphold, after all.

"I have to be able to rile you up somehow," Hawke winked, deliberately brushing a gloved hand along the exposed skin of Isabela's thigh. She smiled and she saw Isabela shudder slightly at her touch.

"I like your hat."

Hawke jumped in her seat, pulling her hand back fast enough to smash her elbow on the bar next to her. She yelped in pain as Cole's inquisitive eyes fell upon the pair.

"Andraste's dimpled buttcheeks, who's the boy and why is he standing _so_ close to me?" Isabela asked, staring at Cole as she backed as far up to the bar as possible.

"That's Cole," Hawke explained. "He's... well, he's special."

"Special as in Sandal special?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. Cole simply continued to stare at her.

"Something like that," Hawke agreed, doing her best to hide a smile.

"I like hats," Cole repeated, staring at Isabela in a way that clearly made her uncomfortable. Hawke, on the other hand, found her uncommon discomfort incredibly amusing. The young man's eyes were settled squarely on the large, absurdly flamboyant pirate hat that adorned Isabela's head.

"Cole is, um, a spirit," Hawke explained as Isabela stared at her with the most questioning look Hawke had ever seen. "Of compassion, I think they said."

"A spirit," Isabela replied, her tone holding some small measure of annoyance. "Since when do spirits try to steal your hat?"

"The taste of salt, eyes stinging. The swell of waves. Solitude. The sea should bring comfort, but there is only sorrow."

"What is he prattling on about?" Isabela asked, reaching behind her for the newly refilled glass. She drained the contents and slammed it back down on the bar, never once taking her eyes off Cole.

"I think he's trying to say that you missed me," Hawke explained casually, taking a sip from her own mug.

"You got all of that out of salt and waves?" Isabela asked with a disbelieving laugh.

"I missed you, too," Hawke added with a smile. Isabela let out a frustrated sigh.

"You hide to be strong," Cole explained. "You don't need to."

Isabela glanced at Hawke, then back at Cole. "You like my hat, do you?"

"I like hats," Cole said once again.

With a slight shake of her head, Isabela removed the hat and held it out toward Cole. Though his face remained unmoved, Hawke could see his eyes brighten in delight. "Take it, kitten."

"Maker's breath, Cole wandering the battlements in a pirate hat," Hawke laughed. "I can't even imagine it."

"You won't have to imagine it," Isabela returned with a deep laugh as Cole wandered away, straightening his newly acquired headpiece.

"When do you leave?" Hawke asked after a moment.

"Hadn't really thought about it," Isabela returned with a shrug, again waving at the bartender.

"What do you mean?" Hawke asked in confusion.

"Dellis mentioned something about needing skilled hands here in Skyhold," she replied, reaching out and grabbing the glass before it even hit the bar.

"Wait, are you saying you're staying?"

"Maybe, if you ask nicely," Isabela told her with a wink.

Hawke smiled, her hand once again finding its way to Isabela's thigh. "I think that could be arranged."

Nearly every set of eyes in the tavern turned to watch as the two women exited the Herald's Rest. The mug on the bar remained behind, utterly untouched.


End file.
